


tonight may be the last chance we'll be given

by theglitterati



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Coming In Pants, First Time, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: With twelve hours left until they leave Barcelona, Yuri's determined to let Otabek know how much he likes him.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 13
Kudos: 147





	tonight may be the last chance we'll be given

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "The Secret's In The Telling" by Dashboard Confessional. I think this is the first time I've ever come up with a title and then written a fic to fit it. This song has been in my head for weeks!

Yuri thought the anticipation that had been thrumming through his body since the first day in Barcelona would have subsided by now. He’d won. It was over. But it felt like things were just getting started.

He wrestled with this necktie, attempting to tie it how Victor had taught him. After five tries, it still looked like a noose. He whipped it over his head. Fuck it. Suits weren’t his style, anyway. He ditched the jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and traded his uncomfortable dress shoes for colourful sneakers. He checked his reflection. Much better. 

A quick glance at his phone told him he was already five minutes late for the banquet. Shit. He took a few selfies, quickly posted one to Instagram, and went downstairs. 

He found the object of anticipation just inside the door of the banquet hall, wearing a black suit and leather boots. Yuri wondered if he had been waiting for him. He hoped so.

“You’re late,” Otabek said. Yuri mentally cursed himself for his tardiness. Every second he was still in Barcelona that wasn’t spent staring at Otabek Altin’s gorgeous fucking face was time wasted.

If someone had told Yuri four days ago that he’d find something more exciting in this city than a Grand Prix gold medal, he’d have thought they were crazy, or possibly trying to sabotage him. Yet here he was. He was drawn to Otabek like a moth to an extremely-good-looking flame. They didn’t even have to speak; Yuri could feel the current between them every time they were in the same room. He had spent the last three nights lying in his stiff, hotel bed, imagining the things those lips and hands could do to him, what Otabek looked like under those modest costumes of his. It made it harder to look Otabek in the eye, but all the more necessary to be close to him. Now, Yuri only had twelve hours left before they went home. He wasn’t letting that opportunity pass him by. He was going to take home two golds in Barcelona.

Of course it was easier fantasized about than done, with a million people wanting to talk to both of them, and their various adult chaperones making sure neither of them drank enough to lower any inhibitions, and the happy silver couple, composed of Yuuri’s medal and Victor’s hair, putting on a dance show like they were the real winners. Yuri did what he could: he glued himself to Otabek’s side and tried to look sexy in a room full of full-grown, besuited, professional athletes.

The party sucked; he hated these things on a normal day, and he especially hated assholes wasting his time. The one saving grace was that Otabek seemed to hate it, too. He happily followed Yuri around, making snarky jokes about the other guests and letting Yuri drag him away from boring conversations. Otabek gave Yuri more attention than he did everyone else combined. Yuri was almost, _almost_ sure Otabek wanted him back. They tried to steal drinks from the refreshment table, but the caterer recognized Yuri immediately and denied them both. Fuck being famous.

As soon as was appropriate, Yuri started looking for an exit. He thought about just inviting Otabek back to his room, but if he was reading things wrong — maybe friends really did just rip friends’ gloves off on TV with their teeth? — what were they going to do? Play cards? No thank you. Plus, Yuri was sharing the room with Mila, and while she’d probably be out late partying, there were no guarantees. He decided to test the waters before jumping in.

“It’s hot in here,” he said to Otabek. “You want to go outside?” There was a balcony surrounding the hall that looked out over the Mediterranean, and luckily, it was cold enough that most people were staying inside.

“Yeah, sure.”

Yuri opened the door for Otabek and then slammed it behind them. He wished there was a lock. The balcony had a wooden railing to keep drunk people from falling off onto the beach. Yuri hoisted himself onto it, letting his legs dangle over the side. Otabek followed him, sitting close, but not close enough.

“Sucks we have to leave tomorrow,” Yuri said.

Otabek nodded. “Barcelona is a great city.”

 _A great city?_ They could be on the fucking Moon for all Yuri cared. He wasn’t here to sightsee.

“Do you miss people from home when you’re away?” If Otabek was seeing someone, he wanted to know.

“I miss my family,” Otabek said. He didn’t offer any more information.

Yuri checked his phone. It was almost eleven. Otabek was going to turn back into a pumpkin soon if he didn’t do something. Otabek didn’t want to talk? Fine. There were other things they could do besides talking.

Yuri squirmed around, pretending to adjust his shirtsleeves. When he put his hand back on the railing, he set it down half on top of Otabek’s, fingers splayed. He kept his eyes on the ocean like nothing had changed, even though everything had. His heart raced. Touching Otabek was like holding his hand to a hot stove, but he forced himself to keep his hand there, to make sure Otabek knew it wasn’t an accident. His hand was bigger than Yuri’s, and warm despite the cold sea air.

Otabek was still as a statue. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._ Yuri started thinking of ways to write it off — he was drunk, he was tired, he’d hit his head during practice and maybe had a concussion — when Otabek finally moved. For a split second, Yuri thought it was to pull his hand away. Instead, he turned it over, and intertwined his fingers with Yuri’s.

Yuri froze. _He was holding Otabek’s hand!_ If he moved, or even breathed, it could end. He stared out over the sea, wishing its spray could reach them, because he was in serious danger over overheating. 

After what felt like hours but was probably less than a minute, he chanced a look at Otabek, and found Otabek looking back at him. Yuri leaned in, and Otabek leaned in, and for one glorious, perfect, fucking _bezumno krasivaya_ moment, they were a heartbeat away from kissing. And then someone inside dropped a glass, and shattered their little bubble.

“I will seriously kill whoever did that,” Yuri muttered.

Otabek snorted. “Horrible timing.”

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Yuri asked. “Literally anywhere else?” They’d pulled their hands back when the glass dropped, and Yuri was dying to get his back on Otabek. “We could go to my room, but Mila…”

“I, uh. I have my own room?” Otabek said, as though he’d just realized it.

“Can we go there?”

“You want to?”

More than he’d ever wanted anything. “Yeah, let’s go.” Yuri leaned forward and dropped down into the sand.

“What are you doing?”

“Let’s just go around the front. I don’t want anyone trying to talk to us.” If that sounded crazy, Otabek didn’t say anything. He just followed Yuri off the balcony onto the beach.

Yuri planned on kissing him the second they got in the elevator, but of course three other assholes got in with them, all of them going further up than Otabek’s sixth-floor room. One of them shoved in between them, clearly unaware of the force field of sexual tension he’d just plopped himself in the middle of. Yuri could have strangled him. 

Once they escaped, it was all Yuri could do to walk slowly and calmly down the hall to Otabek’s door and wait for him to find his keycard. He felt like a downed power line, shooting sparks all over the street. This was really going to happen. He was going to kiss Otabek! He felt so fucking alive.

Otabek stopped just inside the door and untied his boots. The room was dark but for the light from the city coming in the window. Otabek turned to face him, and all of Yuri’s plans about jumping him disappeared. He froze. He was scared. What if he fucked things up? Despite how much he’d been thinking about it, he’d never actually kissed anyone before.

But the way Otabek was looking at him made fucking it up feel impossible. Otabek put his hands on Yuri’s waist. Yuri stepped forward. And then Otabek kissed him.

It was quick; mouths shut, just a press of their lips together. Otabek’s lips were softer than Yuri expected. After a few more, Yuri realized he wasn’t doing anything with his arms. Also, his hands were trembling. He linked them behind Otabek’s neck to still them.

They eventually had to stop for breath, and when Otabek licked his lips, Yuri took it as an invitation. He pressed his lips to his and opened them slightly, and Otabek reciprocated, letting him in. His mouth was warm, and wet, and Yuri felt the first stirrings of arousal break through his nerves. Otabek’s hands tightened on his waist.

“Do you want to lie down?” Otabek asked the next time they broke apart. Yuri nodded, and let Otabek lead him to the bed. He kicked his shoes off as he went. Otabek shrugged off his jacket and undid his tie.

They lay down curled towards each other, their knees knocking together. Otabek lifted a hand to Yuri’s face, trailing his fingers through Yuri’s hair and down his cheek. Yuri flushed deeply. Otabek’s gaze was almost too much to take. He leaned in and kissed him again.

As soon as Yuri’s tongue was back in Otabek’s mouth, he was turned on and ready to explore. It got easier the more they kissed; his nerves ebbed slightly, letting him try new things, touch Otabek in new places. His hands wandered over Otabek’s strong arms and broad shoulders, and down his chest to his abs, every touch making Yuri harder under his dress pants. Otabek, for his part, tangled one hand in Yuri’s hair like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it, scratching at the scalp and twisting the blond locks through his fingers. His other hand drifted down to Yuri’s thigh, where he made big, slow circles between his hip and lower back until Yuri finally reached back and guided Otabek’s palm to his ass. 

He pulled Yuri close, and Yuri gasped as their bodies came flush together, his erection pressing into Otabek’s leg. It would have been humiliating if Otabek wasn’t hard, too, but he was, and he rolled his hips gently against Yuri’s.

It might have been enough to stop there, to pull apart and kiss slower until they relaxed again. If only they’d had more time. But with no future plans to see Otabek again, Yuri couldn’t stop.

He slipped his leg between Otabek’s, and they rocked back and forth together, getting each other off. Their hands flew wildly now, pulling at buttons and sliding under shirts. Yuri felt the smooth, hard lines of Otabek’s stomach, the soft trail of hair that led below. Otabek dipped lower to kiss Yuri’s neck. He didn’t suck or bite, but Yuri hoped there’d be marks there in the morning somehow. He wanted to remember this.

His hips kept time with Otabek’s, every thrust bringing him closer. Soon, too soon, he felt a familiar pressure building in his groin. “Oh, god,” he said frantically. Otabek pulled back from his throat. “I’m gonna cum—”

 _“Fuck,”_ Otabek swore deeply. _“Yuri.”_ He pushed his hand against the front of Yuri’s pants, and that was all it took to drive Yuri over the edge. Suddenly, he was coming into Otabek’s hand, hot spurts of it soaking his underwear. He bit his lip to keep from moaning.

And then it was over, and he couldn’t help feeling self-conscious about what had just happened, despite how incredible it had felt. No one had ever seen him like this before. But he couldn’t have found anyone better to show himself to than Otabek.

Otabek, who was still completely hard, and very obviously trying not to move his hips while Yuri recovered. God, Yuri wanted to watch him come. He wanted to _make_ him come. “Can I?” he asked.

Otabek nodded, lips pressed into a hard line. Yuri copied his technique, pressing his hand to where Otabek’s cock strained against the fabric of his pants. As soon as he touched him, Otabek jumped, his hips thrusting roughly against Yuri’s hand. He let out a quiet moan that sent shivers down Yuri’s back.

Yuri worried that he wouldn’t know what to do, but like many things for him, it came naturally. He fitted his hand around the shape of Otabek’s cock, moving it in time with his thrusts. It only took a moment before Otabek’s hips stuttered once, twice, and then he came with a quiet sigh. Yuri felt the fabric grow moist under his hand until Otabek gently removed it.

“That was amazing,” Otabek said, once he caught his breath.

“Yeah, it was.”

Otabek looked up at Yuri, his eyes soft and hazy. “Come here.” He pulled Yuri close to him so that Yuri’s head rested on his chest, Otabek’s arm cradling him.

They lay together for a while, not talking, until Otabek suggested they clean themselves up. Yuri was eager to do so; the wetness in his pants had cooled, and was getting more uncomfortable by the second. “I’ll go first,” he said, and headed for the bathroom.

He was shocked when he flipped on the light and saw himself in the mirror. His face was red and blotchy, his lips swollen. His hair was a rat’s nest. He looked like a hot mess. He peed and cleaned up his stomach and pants, then stole Otabek’s comb to fix his hair before going back. Otabek went in after him. Yuri was wondering if he should move over when Otabek returned and put his arm back around him, leaving no space between them.

There was something Yuri had to ask him, and doing so was harder than any of the physical stuff. He didn’t know how Otabek felt about him. Maybe he did this kind of thing all the time. Yuri didn’t think so, but he had to be sure.

“Do you like me?” he asked through gritted teeth. Fuck. It sounded so stupid.

Otabek stiffened. “Yes? Do you like me?”

“Yes,” Yuri admitted. He felt relieved.

Otabek tipped Yuri’s chin up to face him. “Did you think I didn’t like you? After what we just did?”

“I don’t know,” Yuri mumbled. He buried his face in Otabek’s shoulder. “Shut up.” Otabek snickered at him.

“Yuri, I’ve liked you for a long time.” Yuri’s head shot up; now it was Otabek who couldn’t look at him. “I saw you skate last year at Junior Worlds, and I remembered you from training camp, and… I had a little crush on you, I guess. I felt happy, and proud, every time I saw you on TV or on the Internet.

“But it’s different now we’ve met properly. You’re different than I remembered.” Otabek finally looked him in the eye. “I like you even more now.”

Yuri felt like he might cry. “God, Otabek— that’s—” He surged forward and kissed him. Sometimes, kissing was easier than talking.

***

Yuri awoke in the dark hotel room, drowsy and sticky with sweat. He sat up and checked the clock: 6:00 a.m.

He hadn’t meant to stay the night — neither of them had even set an alarm as far as he remembered. They must have dozed off while they were cuddling. Otabek lay beneath him, mouth slightly open, hair mussed. Yuri thought he looked beautiful.

He wished he could stay, but Yakov would be looking for him soon. He nudged Otabek’s shoulder. “Hey. Wake up.”

“Mmf,” Otabek mumbled without opening his eyes. “Yuri?”

“We fell asleep. It’s morning.”

That woke him up. “What time?”

“Six.”

“Shit. You have to go?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes, and kissed Yuri softly, just once.

Yuri stood up to leave, but Otabek caught him by the hand. “Hey.” His voice was urgent. “I probably won’t see you for a few months. But I don’t want this to be the only time this happens.”

Yuri shook his head. He was starting to feel like he might cry again. “Me neither.”

“We can text each other,” Otabek said, “and Skype, and—”

“I’m going to miss you,” Yuri blurted out.

“I’ll miss you, too. But we will make this work,” Otabek promised. “I want to be with you.”

Now he really was going to cry. “Me too,” he said. And then, “I should go.”

“Okay. Goodbye, Yuri.”

Yuri leaned in and kissed him one more time. “Bye, Otabek.”

He let himself out of the hotel room, shutting the door softly behind him. He leaned against it, just for a moment, before going back to his own room.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at kyrstin.tumblr.com.


End file.
